I should be greeting my guests right now for our annual Chili Cook-off party.  I should be showing them where to put their coats.  I should be showing the contest participants where to put their entries.  I should be smelling the spices from the various recipes.  I should be handing out tickets for voting.  I should be all smiles.

I shouldn’t be stuck in bed with lymph nodes so swollen I can’t turn my head.  I shouldn’t be feeling my throat get worse and worse with each swallow.  I shouldn’t feel like I’m in quick sand when I try to move.  My husband shouldn’t have spent all day trying to get in touch with everyone on the guest list to tell them the party is cancelled.  I shouldn’t be in tears.

My illness(es(es…)) have had royally sucky timing lately.  Suck.  E.  With a capital E.

We hosted our first Chili Cook-off 18 years ago.  I love hosting parties.  My body doesn’t.  I almost always get sick shortly after hosting anything.  We refer to it as my “PPSS.”  Post Party Stress Syndrome.  I know it isn’t a coincidence that I ended up being sick enough to send me to the ER the past two Februaries (the Chili party is always the end of January).

But apparently my body has decided it isn’t going to wait until AFTER big events anymore.  It has now chosen twice to shut down DURING.  And ruin things.

I always tell people the treatments I’ve tried during the past 5 years have improved my symptoms.  Malaria medicine that looks – and tastes – like fluorescent paint.  Antibiotics.  Handfuls of supplements.  More antibiotics.  Not to mention the multitude of tests I have endured to try to make some sense out of some of the bizarre symptoms.  And I do know that I am better.  But I sometimes wonder if the medicine has helped as much as I think, or if I have just adjusted my lifestyle to accommodate. 

I evaluate the effort required for everything I do to decide if it is worth using my limited energy.

I now know I must schedule in a nap (at least once) daily.  My kids are now older and more self-sufficient, and therefore less physically taxing.  I have lowered my standards of what a “clean house” means.  I have raised the acceptable level of “video game time” so I can rest.  We eat out much more than we used to.  My kids don’t have friends over as often as they’d like.  I have given up hobbies.  I have given up a lot.

And now apparently it is trying to make me give up my parties.

So, am I really winning against the disease?  Or is it winning against me?

Every day I have to live within the constraints that my body sets for me.  And when I don’t, I pay the price.

Some days the price is higher than others.  Like today.

But tomorrow is another day.  Another day with a 10 pound pot of chili lookin’ for a party.

(In case you haven’t read My Sick and Tired List, click here.)

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I will probably delete the rest of this but feel the need to vent.  And no one reads blogs on the weekends anyway so it is a good opportunity to get my frustrations out…

To the lady woman who commented “Boo.  Another A-list wannabe.  Puke!” on my post about my lunch with Melissa:

Screw.  You.

My trip was a much needed break from the daily struggles of my “L-list” life (lyme and lupus life).  And if you had actually bothered to read the rest of my posts about the trip, you’d know that even going to another state wasn’t enough to escape the problems.  They followed me there too.

But it was still a very exciting experience that I wanted to share.

And I’ll take my sick life any day over a life so bitter that you can’t stand to read about a little happiness in someone else’s life without being snarky.

…And I must point out that you made that comment while posting on the Real Housewives FAN Page…